


we were always a losing game

by onlyplusharold



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 27 years of pining, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, I'm Sorry, Kissing, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Sad, Spoilers, a gross overuse of adjectives, and of the word blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyplusharold/pseuds/onlyplusharold
Summary: he knows how the story goes. he loves and loves and loves and then he loses./richie and eddie, on the floor in the cavern. a deleted scene.





	we were always a losing game

**Author's Note:**

> so. i wrote this on my phone during my 4 hour train ride back home. it's unbeta'ed, my first fic in years, and it shows. but i love it all the same. criticism and advice are always welcome though!  
rated T for all the blood and you know, open wound thing, but this is actually really tame  
title from Arcade by Duncan Laurence - if you are the person who posted about this song and reddie on tumblr a few days ago, thank you i owe you my life  
also if you feel there are missing tags please do tell me, i'm a bit clueless about it all. enjoy reading! (or not, this is terribly sad)

they are sitting on the floor in pennywise's lair and eddie is dying.  
deep down, richie knows this, he does. he knows how the story goes. he loves and loves and loves and then he loses. he lost eddie once before, a distant voice in his brain says. he can't let that thought get to him, though, because eddie is here, bloody and battered and beautiful and alive, and as long as richie is here with him, he'll be alright. he can make it right.  
he busies his hands with fussing over the wound, babbling words he is pretty sure don't make sense, but he has to get this moment moving, to keep the momentum going. to keep eddie alive.  
eddie closes his eyes.

richie's face crumples. his hands are cradling the other's face, mindful of his injured cheek. eddie's eyes flutter open again, alert and worried, but it's too late. richie's mind caught up to him and now he's drowning. his hands clench as if he could keep eddie from slipping away from him; he is crying soft tears he doesn't even feel.  
"eddie", he whispers. his voice is filled with a sorrow so palpable it is making the air around them thicker. "eddie no, i- i love you eddie i _love_ you." he is sobbing the words. his throat closes up as he's practically choking on his tears and eddie is looking at him, disbelief and ache and relief naked on his face. it's impossible how tender his eyes are.  
"i know", he says. "i know."  
his hand grips feebly richie's shirt, tugging him closer until their foreheads touch. richie's eyes are wide and pleading and desperate, but he can't bring himself to move. all he can do is cup eddie's neck with one hand and wipe at his tears with the other, and they're looking at each other, and they're looking at each other, until eddie brokenly whispers "rich" and kisses him.

it's short and chaste and heart-shatteringly beautiful. they are both disgusting, eddie's lips warm with blood, and richie is in love with him.

they part as eddie sucks in a breath, and richie suddenly remembers the gaping wound in his chest. presses on his leather jacket to stop more blood from spewing out. his hands are covered in it.  
"no no no no" he repeats, voice high and frantic, "eddie you just need help you'll be okay, i'll take care of you, i promise i will".  
he is so terrified he forgets to cry.

eddie coughs and grimaces, but he sounds more content than pained as he slurs: "i'm glad it's you, rich. m'glad it was you, all along". his voice is slow with bloodloss and maybe something else, something like longing. there is a hint of a smile on his face.  
"what do you mean?" richie's voice cracks on the last word. he wishes he had more hands so he could be everywhere at once, so he could hold eddie in all the places it hurt, press on his wounds and hold his hand and brush his hair off his forehead and-  
"i do too".

it's so low he almost misses it. he doesn't miss what follows. "always did."  
richie barks out something terrible, like the cry of a wounded animal, or the laugh of a man who suddenly realizes this is a tragedy, and he is the main character.  
eddie frowns, blurting out "well fuck you too", the words heatless. they grin at each other.  
he wants to add something else but his tongue stumbles on the blood in his mouth and the terrible realization that this is as good as it will get, for them.  
suddenly he's terrified, his hand moving to grip the one richie has pressed on his wound - he desperately, desperately needs something to happen. something, anything; for the sky to open and take them, for his stomach to stitch itself back together, for life to undo the years they wasted and give them more time. he never had richie, and he was going to lose him anyway.

richie's hand is warm under his, sticky with blood. for a moment, eddie pretends they are back at the quarry, lounging in the sun, and richie's hands are simply clammy. richie's hands were always clammy. he would have held them until the end of days if he could have.  
richie is talking to him, but his words sound like they are coming out of a very long tunnel. through his half-open eyelids, eddie drinks in the sight of him. this is nice, he thinks. to be here with you. he doesn't know if he says the words out loud. eddie closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @ mlmbuckley or tumblr myownprivatebucky so we can scream together about this godforsaken clown movie


End file.
